


Missing Scenes

by AceOfSpades



Series: Investigations [2]
Category: Doom (2005), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Medical Procedures, Missing Scene, Near Death Experiences, POV Kirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:10:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceOfSpades/pseuds/AceOfSpades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Extra or missing scenes in the universe of The Case of Leonard McCoy, posted as I write them.<br/>Chapter 1: A direct continuation of the epilogue in The Case.<br/>Chapter 2: After Jim almost dies, Bones has a confession.<br/>Chapter 3: Jim has an apology to make. He just wished he knew what he was apologizing for.<br/>Chapter 4: Jim overhears an interesting conversation between Spock and Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vulnerability

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this story will have spoilers for pretty much the entire plot of The Case of Leonard McCoy. If you haven't read that, I would STRONGLY suggest reading it first. Especially because it's a mystery. Don't spoil yourself!
> 
> This story serves two purposes. First, it's a thank you for all the wonderful feedback I received on The Case of Leonard McCoy. The response to that story has been frankly astonishing, and I wanted to thank everyone for their kindness and support. There were several requests to see more from this universe, so I'll use this story to post anything I might find the inspiration to write. Since I never know if I'll be writing another chapter or not, the story is marked as "complete" even though more chapters could conceivably be added. The second purpose is to write some bridging scenes in preparation for the sequel. Yes, I'm writing a sequel. It's slow going because I'm a slow writer, but I'm still working on it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set directly after The Case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for detailed description of a questionable medical procedure. Rated Mature for medical-related gore and sexual content.

_This time it was Bones who kissed him, and Jim laughed against his mouth and pulled him closer, that elusive triumph finally blazing through him._

Something seemed to be slowly unleashed in Bones as they continued kissing, Bones growing more and more insistent with each press of lips. Just when Jim began thinking lightheadedly that horizontal was imminent, Bones suddenly flinched and hissed, and Jim retrieved his head from where he’d lost it.

“First things first,” Jim said, standing from the bed and tugging Bones along with him by the hand. He led him to the closet-sized bathroom.

“You, being the voice of reason?” Bones said skeptically, and then drawled, “Will wonders never cease.”

Jim about-faced at the sink and pressed a solid kiss directly to Bones’s sarcastic mouth. When he pulled back, Bones was watching Jim like he was something brand new, and Jim felt pride bloom in his chest.

“So how are we doing this?” Jim asked.

Bones stared at Jim another second before visibly gathering his wits. He opened a drawer, reached all the way to the back behind the Q-tips and toothpaste, and withdrew a wrapped leather bundle with a clasp. He popped the golden button on the clasp and unrolled it on the countertop like unfurling a scroll. Inside, tucked neatly into a fold, was a row of small, delicate-looking instruments that gleamed silver in the light. It took Jim a moment to recognize them as ancient tools for precise surgical intervention: a scalpel, a surgical tissue spreader, and a pair of medical pliers.

While Jim was busy feeling a trickle of unease at the sight, Bones pulled his dark undershirt over his head and tossed it into the hamper in the corner. Now just in his lounge pants, he grabbed a large bath towel and stepped back into the main room. Jim stopped curiously in the doorway and watched as Bones knelt to lay the towel flat on the floor, where he then proceeded to start rolling it up along the longer side. The black _R.R.T.S.6_ tattoo on his deltoid flexed as he worked, the muscles of his back joining in. Jim licked his lips absently.

“Most people roll towels the other way,” Jim pointed out.

“I don’t think most people use it for this purpose,” Bones retorted as he finished. He stood, holding up the long length of coiled cloth like a snake, and returned to the bathroom. There, he wrapped the coiled towel around his waist, crossing the ends at the small of his back and leaning against the wall to hold them in place.

“Alright,” Bones said to Jim, “I’m going to make the incision, and what I need you to do is get the spreader bars in there as quickly as possible. You have to keep the incision open while I’m working out the shrapnel.” 

Jim’s eyes darted down to the area on the side of Bones’s abdomen where he’d felt the bump of trapped shrapnel. “Why—” Jim felt his voice break. He cleared his throat and started again, “Why aren’t we using lasers? Why a knife?”

Bones was watching him carefully. “Lasers are quick and clean.”

“That’s kind of intentional.”

Bones gave Jim an unimpressed look for his cheek. “In this case, that’s a bad thing. You’ll see,” he said when Jim opened his mouth to argue. Bones pressed the tissue spreader into Jim’s hands. “The shrapnel’s not deep, but I’m pretty sure it’s hooked behind my ribs so it’ll take some finagling.”

Jim suppressed a hysterical giggle. That trickle of unease had become a roaring flood, but Jim wasn’t about to back out now. Also, a guilty part of him was morbidly curious. He’d wondered about Bones’s abilities as an Augment for months now, but seen few of them demonstrated up close. So, steeling himself, he accepted the tissue spreader, looping his fingers through the cold metal handles. Bones picked up the scalpel and then contracted the muscles of his torso so that they formed a tight, immobile barrier over the shrapnel piece. Then he aimed the scalpel at the cluster of muscles, holding it blade-down.

“Wait, no anesthetic?” Jim blurted out, feeling three kinds of uncomfortable at the sight of that sharp blade, millimeters from Bones’s skin.

“Doesn’t work on me,” Bones explained, sounding matter-of-fact rather than disappointed. “Ready?” Bones pressed, eyeing Jim with a strange expression. Mired as he was in his own discomfort, it took Jim a minute to recognize it as apprehension, and he abruptly realized that Bones was probably even more nervous than Jim. Here Bones was, changing his entire style of life, his centuries-old method of going it alone, and all Jim could think about was his own selfish hang-ups.

Jim’s jaw tightened and he pressed the spreader bars just above the scalpel so he could follow it, meeting Bones’s eyes and nodding.

Bones’s throat worked in an almost-imperceptible swallow. “On three,” Bones said, voice low. “One, two—three!”

Jim pressed down and in, trying to catch the flaps of skin that broke open around the scalpel. But he was too slow, waiting for his eyes to see the edges, some panicked part of his mind expecting immediate spurts of blood like in the vids. By the time he was pressing the spreader bars against the skin, it was smooth and unblemished, already healed shut. It was only after the fact that he registered having seen the split skin knitting itself back together, like a living net.

Well. Now Jim knew why Bones wouldn’t want a laser. If Bones healed this quickly from a blade incision, which was primitive and messy by comparison, then a miniscule laser incision would probably heal too quickly for a human to even detect.

Bones lifted the scalpel away, thumping his head back against the wall with a quiet hiss, and Jim had another small epiphany. Bones might heal near-instantly, so fast that not even blood had time to escape its vessels, but he still felt the pain of every wound inflicted on him.

Jim’s throat was clogging up in remorse, and Bones must have been able to read it on his face because he said, “It’s fine, Jim, it takes practice. Hell, I must’ve tried it a dozen times before I got it right, that first time.”

“When was that?” Jim asked thickly, looking for a distraction.

“During the war.” Meaning, Jim had to remind himself, World War III. Jesus, he was still taken by surprise sometimes, the length of Bones’s life spanning out centuries behind him, decades upon decades that Jim had never experienced, that he only knew about from books and holos and vids.

“Let’s try again,” Bones said kindly, as though this was hurting Jim instead of him, and Jim again felt that crushing sense of unfairness like a boulder weighing him down. Bones shouldn’t have to take on the role of comforter, and he was only doing it because Jim must look a wreck.

 _Get a grip, Kirk_ , he thought to himself. Locking his larynx so his voice would come out strong, he said, “Ready.” 

They set their instruments in a row again. This time, when Bones counted, Jim started pressing down on the spreader before he’d had time to register any visible wound, before Bones was even finished saying the word _three_.

The next thing Jim knew, he was holding open a shallow incision in Bones’s side with thin bars of steel. The anticipated blood made its appearance seconds later, pouring out of the crevice in a steady stream. It cut a clean line down Bones’s abdomen where it soaked into the towel around his waist.

“I admit,” Jim said to cover his nerves, “I’ve wondered about spreader bars before, but I didn’t have this in mind.”

Bones attempted to chuckle. At least, that’s what Jim assumed. It sounded more like a wheeze. “Next part’s easier,” Bones gritted out. “I’m going to cut deeper, and you follow me in.”

The white towel around Bones’s waist already had a red stain, edged in pink. “Alright,” Jim said numbly.

Bones took a steadying breath and then held it as he pressed the sharp blade into the heart of the incision. Jim cringed just looking at it, but he made sure he was right behind the scalpel with the spreader. Except, in the process of pulling the bars together to hook into the newly parted flesh, the corners of the incision drew together and then wouldn’t separate. Bones, through hitching breathes, wordlessly sliced them open again, and Jim felt a strange mix of marveled and horrified. He could actually _feel_ the tension of the flesh, tugging as if it had a mind of its own, desperate to restore itself.

He didn’t let the edges of the incision meet again.

The process continued, cutting through millimeter after millimeter of connective tissue and muscle until, blessedly, the scalpel encountered something solid with a scraping sound. The incision was now gushing freely with blood, and through the rivulets Jim could see the outline of a muscle-covered rib, the flesh striated and pink, oozing red. A piece of metal was nestled against and just behind the rib, likewise cradled by muscle and tendon as though a part of Bones’s body.

Bones looked down into the cavity of his own torso, eyes assessing and clinical, as if he wasn’t trembling finely or breathing shallowly. Jim winced as Bones, with only a faint grimace, jabbed the scalpel blade between the shrapnel and the bone and gave it an experimental and nauseating jimmy.

“Damn,” Bones muttered softly. 

“What?” Jim asked as Bones reached behind Jim to drop the bloody scalpel on the counter.

“It’s in the bone,” Bones answered grimly, and his hand passed over the pliers without picking them up. Jim had just opened his mouth to ask what that meant when Bones took a deep breath and, without ceremony, jammed his fingers into the wound. His index finger curved around the rib with a sick _squelch_ , and then Bones gave a sudden, hard yank.

There was an audible and startling _CRACK_ , and Jim _saw_ the bone split, a fissure appearing on the surface that spanned the entire diameter. Bones made an awful sound in his throat, gasped a choked breath in, and then ripped the shrapnel from the bone as though from bedrock, leaving behind a crater. Under Jim’s very eyes, something gummy-looking filled in the hole and rapidly solidified, like filling in a pothole with cement. The surface of it was briefly rough-looking, and then the rough patches faded away and—and the rib looked as good as new, smooth and white and perfect.

It wasn’t over. The shrapnel was separated from the bone now, but it was still embedded in the soft tissue, running parallel to the rib, delving deeper into the muscles of Bones’s side. Bones tugged at the exposed end of the shrapnel and groaned as it started to slide out. And then it kept coming, centimeter after centimeter of jagged metal, tearing through Bones’s body as it exited and inciting fresh waves of blood. It must have been agony dealing with this for the past two days, thought Jim. The serrated edges would have cleaved the surrounding tissue any time Bones moved the wrong way, and the rapid healing would have provided fresh meat for the slaughter. This damage must have been repeating in an endless cycle since Bones had first sustained the injury, and would remain until the foreign object was removed. 

And instead of doing it as soon as possible, Bones had slept, waiting for Jim.

Finally, the shrapnel emerged in its entirety. It was bigger than Jim expected, about the length of his hand from wrist to fingertips. Bones tossed it into the sink where it made a muted thud, the metal cushioned by the flesh still clinging to it. Then the clean fingers of Bones’s other hand were curling around Jim’s over the handles of the spreader, and Jim realized that he himself was shaking. Bones pulled so that the bars came loose from his flesh, slippery and red. The wound closed back up like a mouth, leaving only a thin line demarcating the fracture, and then that too vanished.

Bones sagged back against the wall and let out a long sigh of relief, his eyes closed.

Jim wanted to say something, to apologize for taking so long to see Bones’s message, for being such a dipshit about this at the start, for how he couldn’t think straight right now. His hand rose, unbidden, to trace over Bones’s abdomen. All it encountered was slippery blood, not a single bit of broken skin, but the tight knot in Jim’s stomach didn't loosen. He reflected on Bones’s approach to this—systematic and methodical, with implements at the ready and a practiced hand at self-surgery—and wondered just how many times Bones had been forced to endure this torture, alone and hurting in some quiet corner of the world.

He was brought back to the present by fingers curling hesitantly around his wrist, stopping the migration of his fingers. He met Bones’s eyes, which were watching him carefully, a note of concern and question in their dark depths. _This isn’t right_ , Jim thought. _I want to make this better. I_ ** _will_** _make this better._

Jim didn’t voice this; Bones wasn’t one for words anyway. Instead, Jim reached out and removed the bloodied towel around Bones’s waist, setting it and the spreader on the counter with the other instruments. Then he wrapped his fingers around Bones’s hips and pulled him the single small step it took to reach the sink. Bones was surprisingly pliant, letting himself be moved about, eyes riveted on Jim’s face.

Jim turned the tap on to warm water and gently took Bones’s bloodied hand by the wrist, guiding it under the spray. He lathered it in soap and rubbed the blood off the pads of Bones’s fingers, out of the grooves of his joints, and took special care to clean under his nails. When Jim was done, he grabbed a small washcloth to dry Bones’s hand. Then, wetting the cloth in the warm water, Jim started to run it over Bones’s abdomen, wiping away the tracks of blood that stained his skin.

With each cleansing swipe Jim felt the vice around his heart loosen a little, felt his lungs breathe easier, until finally the only thing left was Bones’s dusky skin. Jim used the clean end of the bloodied towel to wipe away the excess moisture and took a second to admire the dry, unmarred expanse. Then Jim leaned down, his fingers fitting between the stripes of bone on either side of Bones’s ribcage, and pressed a kiss against the rib that had been so recently broken and healed.

The body under his mouth went still as Bones stopped breathing. Jim straightened back up, his palm detouring around Bones’s side and smoothing up his spine to settle easily in the divot at the base of his skull. Jim finally looked him full in the face and took in his expression, Bones’s eyes wide and dark, fixed on Jim like nothing else existed in the world.

Jim stopped holding back, and pulled him in.

As soon as their lips met, Bones’s mouth went soft under Jim’s, the same languid compliance of earlier. It was as though the experience was intoxicating, and perhaps it was, thought Jim. Judging by his responses, Bones was more accustomed to pain than pleasure, and thus had little defense against the latter.

Jim leaned back and almost laughed when Bones made a grumbling sound and swayed forward to follow him. “Bed,” Jim explained.

That seemed to snap Bones out of his daze. His eyes darted to Jim’s, eyebrows pinching upward reflexively.

Jim smirked. “Nervous, old man?” he teased.

Bones’s shoulders dropped from where they’d hitched up practically to his ears, and he muttered, “Like hell.” Despite these fighting words, the hand he reached out was halting and tentative. His fingertips made contact first, brushing shyly against Jim’s elbow and then his side, his eyes seeking out Jim’s for either approval or permission, Jim couldn’t tell. He had both anyway, so Jim squeezed the back of his neck encouragingly and felt Bones’s hand curl around his waist, warm through his shirt. Jim rewarded him with another kiss, and Bones slipped his fingers under Jim’s shirt, the shock of it tingling right up his spine.

Overcoming that first hurdle seemed to be all Bones needed, and he was suddenly right up in Jim's space. His mouth on Jim’s became demanding and his other hand got in on the action, both of them running over Jim’s back and arms and head like they couldn’t decide where to go. He started tugging at Jim’s clothes while simultaneously walking him backwards toward the bed.

Jim hummed against Bones’s mouth and was nothing but helpful in disrobing himself, raising his arms and shimmying his hips as needed. It felt a little sacrilegious to leave the gold command shirt crumpled on the ground, but the sight of Bones’s layers coming off, exposing all that tan skin and muscle, was more than enough compensation. Compared to breaking through Bones’s emotional barriers, this was simple, _easy_ , Bones’s pants peeling off his cut hips with a single tug. Jim tried to step back to get a good look at that body, completely bare, but Bones reeled him back in, keeping their mouths fused.

Bones seemed just a _tad_ obsessed with Jim’s mouth, never going longer than a few breaths between kisses. Even when they were both fully naked, instead of attending to _other_ areas that were making their demands known, Bones cupped Jim’s face in both hands and pulled him close, focused on the movements of their lips with single-minded intensity. Deprived of visual stimuli, Jim resorted to tactile, putting his hands on Bones’s chest and caressing down to his belly. He felt the chiseled abdominal muscles flinch and had a flashback to the only other time they had shared a bed, right after the Bridgestone Boom. When Jim had woken in the middle of the night to check that Bones wasn’t injured, Bones had reacted the same way, his muscles twitching spastically like he wasn’t used to being touched.

“ _Don’t,_ ” Bones bit out desperately as Jim pressed his thumbs into the sensitive skin above his groin, fingers fanning out to span his hipbones.

Jim grinned mischievously. He was about to completely disregard this order, but then his calves unexpectedly bumped the side of the bed and he almost fell. Bones looked like he wanted to help that process, but at the last second he switched course, pivoting so he could be the one to fall onto the bed and pull Jim down with him. And then Jim was stretched out on top of him like a human blanket, and before Jim could comment on the reversal, Bones made an intriguing sound against his mouth. It was breathy, bordering on a whimper, and it made Jim pull back to look at him curiously. Or try, at least. Bones, perhaps thinking Jim was moving away, stopped him by running a firm hand down his back, skating over one buttock and tripping onto his upper thigh where he gripped and pulled. Their bodies pressed together from chest to ankle, and between kisses Bones’s breaths turned shallow and quick.

Actually, they were a little too shallow, it sounded as if he was going to hyperventilate. And, Jim registered, the twitching of Bones’s muscles had sped to a distinct tremble until his whole body was shuddering under Jim like an earthquake. Jim tried to pull back from the kiss, give Bones a little space. But when Bones didn’t want to be moved, he wouldn’t be moved, and his hand stayed solid on the back of Jim’s head, fixing him in place.

“B’nz,” Jim mumbled, lips squished against Bones’s. He moved a hand to cup Bones’s cheek. “B’nz, bweathe.”

At that, Bones seemed to come back to his senses a little. He liberated Jim’s skull and mouth, dropping the offending arm back on the pillow beside his head. The hand on Jim’s thigh, by contrast, only tightened its hold, thumb rubbing up over the swell of Jim’s cheek like he couldn’t stop touching.

“Christ,” Bones panted, eyes closed. “Sorry, I—” he paused, or was maybe just catching his breath, “I forgot how—”

This time it was definitely a pause, but Jim was pretty sure he understood. Getting back to Earth after Tarsus had been sensory overload of the worst kind, and he’d only been away for a few _months_. Jim reached for the arm flung up beside Bones’s head and stroked it soothingly, firm to avoid being ticklish. Gradually, the quivering slowed as Bones got his breath back and adjusted to the sensory influx. When he finally opened his eyes to meet Jim’s, the pupils were blown wide like a drug addict’s. 

“Slow,” Jim said, voice low, and on the next upward sweep of his hand, Bones grabbed it and laced their fingers, squeezing to control the tremor. Pleased, Jim leaned down and began peppering kisses to that long, tempting neck. When Bones let out a sigh and relaxed further, Jim moved to his ear and murmured, “What do you want?” meaning, _What do you need?_

“I—” Bones stuttered to a stop when Jim shifted to a more comfortable position. His eyes rolled shut against the shock of sliding skin and he made that intriguing sound again. “This,” Bones breathed, fingers squeezing Jim’s thigh to hold him in place as he rolled his body up against Jim’s. “ _This_ ,” he repeated, and grabbed the back of Jim’s neck, reclaiming his mouth with a vengeance.

 _Just this?_ Jim was going to ask playfully, but then Bones’s actions caught up with him and he realized what Bones was trying to say. It wasn’t the _sex_ that Bones was asking for, not really; it was the _closeness_ , the feel of another warm body, that tangible, visceral reminder that you were not alone.

“I’m here,” Jim assured him as he let Bones take the lead in guiding their bodies together. “I’m not going anywhere,” he promised against Bones’s lips.


	2. Who We Are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during Jim's convalescence after Into Darkness. Rated Teen for discussion of violence.

_His body ached and burned._

_“It’s a boy.”_

_His lungs refused to take in air._

_“Let’s call him Jim.”_

_His vision was swimming._

_“I love you!”_

_His hand slid down the glass and everything faded._

_“Your father was captain of a Starship for 12 minutes. He saved 800 lives.”_

_Darkness._

_“I’m sorry, Jim.”_

_A warm hand on his chest._

_“I dare you to do better.”_

 

 

Jim slept a lot during his recovery from Khan’s blood treatment. He didn’t want to, but it was like all his strength was gone, sucked out by the radiation poisoning and the drain of his own body being forced to heal unnaturally fast. He thought he might have woken a few times. It was hard to tell those moments apart from dreaming.

Those rare times that he woke to full cognizance, Bones was always there. Most of the time he knew when Jim was awake, and he made jokes and complained about being under Spock’s acting captaincy.

Jim realized this was all a front when he woke one time and Bones didn’t seem to realize it. Jim was still groggy, and only opened his eyes for a split-second, just long enough to see that Bones was sitting next to the bed. One hand was flattened over Jim’s heart, a tangible weight through the sheets. The other palm was stretched over Bones's own mouth, fingers and thumb spread over his cheeks like a spiderweb. He was staring at the wall, eyebrows pinched upward.

“God, Jim,” Bones muttered in a thick, raw voice. “I am so damn sorry.”

For a second, Jim thought Bones had seen him. But then Bones went on, “If that tribble hadn’t made a sound, I would’ve missed it. I would’ve sat by and let you die needlessly. I got so wrapped up in my own feelings, didn’t want to miss the chance to mourn you.” Jim puzzled over this sentence, but before he could dwell on the meaning, Bones continued in a growl, “And _Khan_.” It took Jim a second to place the strange sound that followed: Bones’s teeth grinding together. “I didn’t want Spock to kill him. _I_ wanted to kill him. I still do. I want to find the warehouse where they’ve got all those Augment popsicles and destroy every last one of them for even daring to _think_ about—”

There was a long period during which the only sound was Bones’s ragged breathing.

“In the end it won’t even matter, will it?” he finally said, voice whispery soft and defeated. “I’m gonna lose you either way.”

At this, Jim couldn’t contain himself. He opened his eyes and bent his elbow so he could cover Bones’s hand with his own. Bones startled and tried to withdraw, but Jim managed to grab his fingers before they could retreat. He pressed them to his breast, met Bones’s panicked gaze, and said solemnly, “I wanted to kill him too.”

Bones’s face was filled with consternation and no small amount of embarrassment at being caught in his private confession. “Jim, I didn’t—”

“I wanted to kill him for murdering Pike,” Jim repeated. “But when I had the chance I _didn’t_ , and I know you wouldn’t have either. That’s not who you are.”

“Jim, stop, you should be resting,” Bones said gruffly and tried to pull his hand away. 

Jim held tight, not letting him escape. “Mercy before vengeance, kindness before anger. Spock gave me a reminder, but _you_ taught me that lesson years ago. You wouldn’t kill him.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Bones said darkly. “I’ve killed people before, Jim.”

“That makes two of us,” Jim said evenly. “When we _had_ to. But not when we _didn’t_. That’s the difference between a killer and a pragmatist.” Jim ran his thumb over the back of Bones’s hand. “You’re not a killer, Bones.”

“You can’t know that,” Bones rasped, staring at the bedding.

“I can,” Jim disagreed, “because I know _you_.” Bones’s eyes jerked to his. The personal significance of this phrase didn’t escape Jim. He held Bones’s gaze, letting him see the unwavering faith Jim had in him and willing him to believe it too. “If you really were going to kill him, Spock wouldn’t have gotten to Khan first.”

Bones didn’t deny it.

“You’re one of the best men I know, and you’re better than that.” Jim squeezed his hand and then tipped his head back on the pillow with a sigh. “Also, would you quit with the dramatics? ‘You’re going to lose me.’” he mocked. “As if! Face it, Bones, I’m a tough motherfucker to kill. You’re obviously stuck with me.”

Bones let out a surprised little breath that was almost a laugh, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “At the rate you’re going, something else will’ve tried to kill you by sundown tomorrow.”

“Surely not until the end of the week?” Jim responded.

“Definitely by the end of the day if you don’t take your next dose,” Bones said, and stood to grab a hypospray.

Before he slipped his hand away, Jim pulled it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the knuckles. “Thank you for saving me, Bones,” he murmured.

Bones cleared his throat but didn’t try to liberate his hand. “Haven’t you heard? It’s my new full-time job.” 

“I hope they’re paying you well,” Jim said lightly as he released Bones’s hand. 

“The benefits suck,” Bones told him, loading a hypospray and then wielding it too fast for Jim to see it coming. It _shushed_ against Jim’s neck and he immediately felt lethargy fall over him like a heavy blanket. “That particular benefit ain’t too bad,” Bones said thoughtfully, his voice sounding like it was coming from a long distance away.

“Ow,” Jim complained reflexively. “Son of a...” and then the world dissolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still trucking along with the sequel. I've got about 22k words so far. Still figuring out the details of the plot, but I've got the major points planned. I think this story is going to turn into a series of bridging scenes between The Case and the sequel.


	3. Womanizer?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has an apology to make. He just wished he knew what he was apologizing for.

Bones sighed in frustration for the third time in as many minutes.

Jim glanced over from where he was getting dressed. “Is it imitate wind instruments day?” he asked.

“I’m going over applications for the positions that are now vacant,” Bones said. “Damn Khan to hell,” he added in an undertone.

“You don’t like any of the applicants?”

Bones made a finger-heavy hand motion. “Too many without experience. They obviously just want the prestige of being on the flagship. Actually, I think this one might be stalking you,” he said, looking slightly disturbed at whatever he was reading.

“Which positions do you still need to fill?”

“I found a good doctor by the name of Jabilo M’benga. He interned on Vulcan before it was destroyed, so if there’s anything wrong with Spock I’ll have an expert on hand who can deal with it. Non-human physiology isn’t my specialty. But I still need one more doctor, and none of these are standing out.”

“Need any nurses?” Jim asked, securing the last button on his shirt. He meandered over to stand behind Bones, leaning on his shoulders.

Bones shot him a suspicious look. “Why?”

“I may be able to get you one I think you’ll full-heartedly approve of,” Jim said casually. He leaned down to kiss the furrow between Bones’s eyebrows before heading to the front door. “But first, I have to make an apology.”

“For what?”

“I don't know!” Jim called back as he exited the room. “Wish me luck!”

/\  
/ *,\  
(,  ‘ \\)

The townhouse Jim pulled up to a short time later was small and a pale mint green. Stone steps led to a small landing and a white front door. A charming garden of tulips was growing in the window box to the right.

When the door opened, Jim greeted the surprised face with a sheepish smile.

“Captain Kirk?” the blonde woman said.

“Hello, Christine. I’m sorry for the surprise visit. May I come in?”

Still looking flabbergasted, Christine Chapel nevertheless stepped back and invited him in. She led him to a sitting room just off the main entry, the same room with the window box of tulips. The inside had an eclectic feel with paintings in many different styles and colors.

Jim sat on the small plaid loveseat, and Christine took the wing-back chair across the low coffee table.

“You’re the last person I expected to see today. Or ever, really,” Chapel said, apparently having got her wits back. She was giving him a slightly suspicious look. “What are you here for?”

Straight to the point then. Jim took a deep breath and said, “I’m here to…apologize.” She looked stunned. “It’s recently been brought to my attention that you were unhappy on the _Enterprise_.”

“Well, that’s,” she stumbled, not seeming to know what to say. Finally, she queried, “What exactly are you apologizing for?”

“I’m—not clear on the specifics,” Jim said dubiously, wondering if he should have gotten more details out of Carol before coming here, “but you did request to be reposted.”

“I did,” she agreed slowly.

“Why?” Jim asked, unable to contain himself. “Were conditions in med bay poor?”

“Medical was fine, Captain,” she said, watching him carefully. After a brief hesitation, she seemed to bolster herself and then said, “The problem was you.”

“Me?” Jim said incredulously. “What, the way I ran the ship?”

“Your leadership was unconventional,” she said delicately, “but no one can argue your results. No, it wasn’t that.”

“Then what?” Jim persisted.

Her shoulders slumped a little. “Captain,” she said, giving a look like she couldn’t believe he didn’t know, “you hit on me basically every time we saw each other.”

Jim frowned. “I— _what_?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “The first time you met me, you told me you _liked_ me while I was trying to give you a report.”

Jim tried to remember saying this. “I didn’t, but—”

“One time in the mess hall you said you were surprised how much I ate because I had such a _great figure_ ,” she said sarcastically.

“That was a compli—”

“You came into med bay and asked me if I could give you your vaccination hypos on _any_ part of the body,” she said significantly.

Now that she mentioned it, Jim did remember making that joke a time or two. “I was just kiddin—”

“And when I finally tried to say something about it, you told me to _lighten up_.”

“Okay, that was probably—“

Chapel held up a hand sharply to silence him. “You were not treating me as a professional,” she said severely. “So yes, I was not happy.”

“But,” Jim said uncertainly, “surely you don’t think I _meant_ anything by it.”

“What it meant to _me_ ,” Chapel said, “was that my superior officer was taking advantage of his new position of power to treat me exactly as he liked, with no respect to me, my rank, or my work.”

Chagrined and shocked at seeing the reception of his words, he said, “Christine, I—”

“Chapel, please,” she said stiffly.

“Chapel,” Jim corrected hastily, realizing that he’d already stepped on her toes enough. “Look, I—I flirt with everyone, alright? It’s nothing personal, it’s just how I am.”

“Don’t try to feed me that bullshit, Kirk,” she said, sounding angry now. “You don’t treat men that way.”

“Yeah, but they’re—there’s a different social code with guys, you know?”

She shook her head at him. “In other words, there’s respect between men, but not from a man to a woman.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jim insisted.

“Then what did you mean?”

Jim tried to explain. “That’s just how it works. Guys treat each other like buddies unless there’s some cue that they could be interested in more.”

She was staring at him with a slightly confused expression. “Kirk,” she said slowly, “do you regard everyone you meet as a potential sex partner?”

“Uh,” Jim said, thinking, _Doesn’t everyone?_

“Never mind,” she said, waving away the question. “If you don’t immediately start flirting with men because you’re not sure they’ll appreciate it, why can’t you extend the same courtesy to women?”

Because they’re women, Jim opened his mouth to say, and then abruptly realized that this was her entire point. His mouth remained open but nothing came out for a while. Finally, he forced out, “I—suppose I could.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“It hasn’t really been a problem before,” he said defensively.

The eyebrow stayed up. “You seriously think I’m the ONLY woman who’s ever had a problem with the way you treated her?”

Jim paused, and suddenly wondered if this was how Uhura saw him those first few years. Come to think of it…Carol had said he had a _reputation_ , right before bringing up Chapel. And years before that, at the Academy, Kalu had refused a date with him because of his “reputation.”

When he remained silent, Chapel went on, “Supposing you get a new female crewmember who doesn’t know you personally. How is she to know that you 'don’t mean anything' by hitting on her? Perhaps you need a warning label. _Irrepressible flirt, take no heed_.”

Jim let out a surprised laugh at the mental image, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe you have a point.” When she just continued to give him an unimpressed look, he said more strongly, “No, okay, you _do_ have a point. I should—I _will_ work on it. I will.”

She stared at him. “What—just like that?”

“Uh. Sure,” he said. When she continued to stare at him with disbelief, he shrugged and said, “Spock’s my second in command. If I couldn’t recognize a good point, even one I disagree with, I wouldn’t still be Captain. I’ve just never thought about this particular issue before.”

She assessed him for another minute before saying, “I thought you couldn’t shock me more, but I suppose I should remember that you’re well known for doing the improbable, Mister Kirk.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “That can be another warning label,” he suggested.

She snorted.

“I do have one more surprise for you,” Jim said now, giving her a serious look. “I want you back on the _Enterprise_.” When she blinked at him, he continued, “Not just me. Bones was pretty upset when you left.” Now that Jim thought about it, Bones had been pretty upset with _Jim_ specifically. He just hadn’t realized it at the time. Jesus, did everyone know about his supposed reputation except him? “Said you were the best damn nurse he’d ever come across.”

“That’s high praise,” she said, looking down at her hands folded in her lap.

 _Higher than you know_ , Jim thought, and waited expectantly.

After a minute of contemplation, she said, “When is the ship sailing?”

“This summer, beginning of July,” Jim said.

“I’ll consider it,” she said. “On one condition.”

/\  
/ *,\  
(,  ‘ \\)

Bones was still going over applications for medical personnel when Jim returned.

“What would you say,” Jim said triumphantly, “if I told you I found you a doctor who comes highly recommended?”

Bones raised an eyebrow at him. “Who recommended them?”

Jim grinned. “You. _Nurse_ Chapel is soon to be _Doctor_ Chapel.”

Bones’s eyes lit up. “How soon can I get her on the ship?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OF COURSE CHAPEL'S GOING TO BE IN THE SEQUEL. Come on, there's only a handful of named, consistent Starfleet ladies. You think I'm going to leave any of them out?


	4. The Only Appropriate Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While recovering from the Nero episode, Jim overhears an interesting conversation between Spock and Bones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand these are officially out of chronological order. This scene takes place technically during the first movie, and would be set after the first chapter of Missing Scenes. So sorry for the rewind, but I've been thinking about a scene like this for a while and was randomly inspired to write it today.

While on the return voyage after defeating Nero, the ship’s resources had been rationed. Triage put the remainder of Jim’s injuries low on the list of priorities, so he didn’t see a biobed until they returned to earth. Bones was only too happy to get Jim into one. Jim was decidedly _not_.

“This is so booooooriiiiiing,” Jim complained to the ceiling. 

“Lie still, Jim.”

“God, what do people _do_ around here?”

“They _rest_ ,” Bones said pointedly. 

“Stop looking at the straps, you’re making me nervous!”

“ _You_ need to stop squirming, else I’ll have to use them,” Bones threatened.

“Can we play a game or something? Look, I spy with my little eye something—OW.”

Bones pocketed the hypo, looking deeply satisfied.

Jim rubbed his neck. “Is that your answer to everything?”

“It’s my answer to _you_.”

“Do you really have to do it so hard?”

“You should be thankful we’re past the age of needles.”

Whatever sedative Bones had given Jim was already working. He was lulled into a semi-conscious state, where he floated between dreams and waking.

“Commander,” Jim heard Bones say distantly. 

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock’s distinct voice said. Jim’s interest in the conversation pulled him toward consciousness, and he listened as Spock asked, “How is the Captain?”

“He’s fairing well, all things considered,” Bones said in his _I’m being a professional_ voice. “The nerve regeneration is coming along nicely. Don’t want to speak too soon, but I think we’ll be able to get him walking again, eventually.”

“That is good news,” Spock said. “However, I was referring to the Acting Captain.”

There was silence in which, Jim presumed, Bones was trying for restraint. Then, as though he couldn’t help himself, Bones said, “You mean the Acting Captain who’s here being treated for impact injuries and near-asphyxiation?”

Spock didn’t even pause. “The very same.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here,” Bones growled, outright hostile now.

“I am merely doing my duty as _second_ in command,” Spock said, the slight emphasis warning Bones of his place in the ship hierarchy.

“And I’m not? Well how’s this for duty: If you ever lay a hand on him again, I _promise_ you won’t see my hypo coming.”

“Are you threatening a superior officer?” Spock asked sternly.

“I’m guaranteeing the _safety_ of a superior officer,” Bones retorted. “Even if that means subduing another one.”

There was a protracted, tense silence. Jim amused himself with trying to picture both their stubborn faces, and lamented the hurdle it would be to get those two to work together.

Then Spock unexpectedly said, “I will hold you to that, Doctor. As you were.”

Jim heard his measured footsteps receding. He peeked his eyelids open to see Bones staring after Spock's retreating back, looking slightly confused.

“My knight in shining scrubs,” Jim slurred, smirking.

Bones glanced over, looking embarrassed. "You heard that?"

"Wielding his almighty weapon, the silver hypospray of fortitude!"

“For God's sake, go back to sleep,” Bones grumbled.

Jim chuckled. “I was right,” he gloated.

“About what?” Bones asked.

“Hypos _are_ your answer to everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have been surprised by Bones's response.


End file.
